


Bathe My Skin (In Red)

by Joshsabs



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Gore, I think it is technically idk, Masochist, Self Harm, Suicide, kind of just a vent fic sorry, not joshler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8089657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshsabs/pseuds/Joshsabs
Summary: Tyler loves the stinging feeling every time he rips his skin open.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just vent so yeah

Tyler’s mother had asked to see his wrist. He wished she hadn't.

The question caught him off guard. He had been helping her clean something in the living room per her request for him to spend more time with her and stop locking himself in his room. She didn't realize he was just trying to keep his thoughts locked up so that no one could ever hear them.

She wouldn't let him walk away, grabbing his arms and forcing his sleeve up to reveal irritated red skin with horizontal lines running all the way down it. He tried to tell her they were just scratches from grabbing his arm in his sleep too hard. It was a lie, and she wouldn't believe it.

Tyler cried. Not because he felt bad, but because he would have to go back to shredding his thighs from now on. Tyler didn't want that, it wasn't enough. He needed more sensitive skin to hold captive underneath his razor that was kept in a wooden box by his bedside. His mother would cry and shout even more if she knew what her son kept in that little brown box she gave him to hold his Pokemon cards in when he was a child.

She screamed and cried and yelled when she saw the lines littering his skin until Tyler couldn't take any more, his feet carrying him up the stairs and almost giving out a few times. His body felt weightless and his mother’s insistent yelling became a dull throbbing noise in the background as he slammed the wooden door shut behind him, the darkness of his room providing a wave of relief to wash over him. His mother didn't follow him.

Tyler was used to his room being dark, he hated when people could see in through his window and the artificial light burned his eyeballs. Besides, when it's dark you can't see the demons from your head that come alive when you're alone.

His hands fumbled around his dresser until he found his favourite top, an oversized black cotton shirt that hung half way down his golden thighs. His jeans and sweater joined each other in a pile on the floor, his hands gingerly pulling the soft material over his body in place of the other clothing articles.

He flopped back on to his bed, throwing his head back in a fit of giggles as he felt around for the familiar smooth feeling of oak wood, his fingers greedily snatching it into his grip when he came across it. With his spare hand he leaned down and shoved a plug into his wall, the dark suddenly becoming illuminated by a strand of red Christmas lights running along the perimeter of his walls as the tiny bulbs sprang to life, bathing his room in a comforting glow. Red was his favourite colour, it was also the only unnatural light he could tolerate.

And after all, he needed some light to be able to end everything. The cool metal fit perfectly between his fingers as he pulled it from the box, his body screaming in protest as he dropped a delicate hand down to his scarred thighs, the skin looking like a maze of irritated red lines, some fresher than others. Regardless, he slowly dragged the blade across one thigh, repeating the same on the other and then moving below to do another one, continuing this for both thighs until he saw more blood than skin. It burned so fucking bad, and he loved every bit of it.

It wasn't enough though. He wanted, no, needed more. His brain was sick and fucked up, nothing would ever change that. He giggled once again as his hand made slice after slice across his wrists, his head starting to feel light and fuzzy, his vision beginning to blur at the edges. He loved that it was numb and painful all at the same time, the buzzing in his head growing louder as more and more blood soaked through his sheets. But now his hand could no longer grip the razor, his muscles too weak. The piece of metal slipped from his numb fingers over the side of his bed and his eyes fluttered shut, finally.

He was gone before the razor hit the floor.


End file.
